My Life as My Father's Slave

WARNING: this story contains incest, references to suicide, pure homophobia, forced domination and slavery, violence and other elements that may be disturbing to those who do not like this kind of thing. If this is your case, I advise against reading it

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As much as it pained me to admit it, Bill had achieved his purpose. Aside from destroying me morally, he had succeeded in making me hate my father. Well, hate, hate... maybe not. You don't destroy a love like the one I had for my dad in an afternoon. But it did get me to start harboring a strong resentment towards him. As much as I kept telling myself that he was doing it all for my own good, and to keep us from being separated, a part of my mind told me that he had gone too far and that my father's behavior towards me those last few days was unforgivable.

Feeling this way, the following days I punctually fulfilled all my duties as a slave, but I did so at all times with an expression of deep irritation and without accepting at any time the few gestures of affection that my father at that time still had for me. My purpose was to make him realize what he had done, feel guilty and apologize, or at least change his attitude.

The strategy failed miserably. It is true that for a couple of days my father seemed distressed by my attitude and hurt when I refused his caresses, but he did not apologize at any time, and immediately his compassionate attitude gave way to one of absolute indifference. It seemed to me, moreover - though it may have been my impression - that he was relieved. It was as if having to show me his love had become a kind of obligation for him and, since I didn't want to know about it, he was free not to have to. And that was a weight off his mind.

Naturally, as soon as I realized this, I wanted to rectify it. The last thing I wanted at that moment was to lose what little love my dad seemed to have left for me. But how could I do that? The only thing I could think of was to ask his permission to speak, one day while I was massaging his feet, and tell him:

-Master, I want to thank you for everything you have done for me. I know you do everything for my sake and I wanted you to know that I appreciate it.

I expected him to smile at me, caress me... I don't know, something. But all I got was that he answered me, with absolute indifference and without looking away from the TV:

-I'm glad you realize...

His attitude made me very sad. However, I didn't give up and added:

-And I hope that soon this will be over and everything will go back to how it was before...

I looked at him anxiously, waiting for his confirmation, but, to my desolation, my father did not answer and continued with his gaze fixed on the TV. Faced with my resounding failure, I was about to speak again, but he cut me off with a gesture and said:

-Enough chitchat. Concentrate on what you're doing, slave...

I was dejected, feeling how day by day I was losing my dad, and also now feeling partly guilty about it. Why had I shown him anger and contempt? What was I thinking? He was the only person I could count on and I had taken him away from me.

At least my suffering served a purpose. The next time Bill came to visit, after some time talking with my father, while I was busy attending to them, he commented:

-Great. The bond between you two is no longer at all noticeable. The inspector won't notice anything.

I was not happy to hear that, even if it was convenient for me. I feared that this bond was lost forever. But even worse was what followed:

-And now I can tell that you really feel about him in your rightful place. And, tell me Mason, I know you've thought a lot about this, isn't it better this way? Isn't this the right thing to do? Isn't this the way things are supposed to be?

-Yes, Bill, I suppose it is -my dad replied, to my dismay. To which Bill then replied:

-Nevertheless, it doesn't hurt to keep working on this -and now not caring at all that I was listening, he added: -We have to sink him deeper and deeper, make him feel like what he is, the biggest piece of shit in the world... Then the inspector won't have any doubts.

And, shattered, I saw that my father no longer had the slightest objection to this....

I don't know if it was a new test or by chance, but the next day Bill came home again, but this time he didn't come alone. He was accompanied by Mike, my godfather and my father's partner. I froze when I saw him. I hadn't heard from him since my arrest. I prostrated myself to kiss his feet, as was proper, and as soon as I stood up again, he let loose a tremendous spit in my face, while he exclaimed with contempt:

-Fucking faggot! And to think that for me you were like a son...

That's how he continued to treat me the whole evening. For example, while they were having a drink in the kitchen, with me standing there serving them, he confronted me and asked me:

-Tell me, faggot: Did you look at my package when we were seeing each other? Did you desire me? Did you touch yourself thinking about my dick? Would you have liked to suck me? Answer me, pig! -And he gave me a violent slap that almost knocked me to the ground and made my ears ring. What hurt me most, however, was that my dad, although he made a gesture of disgust when he saw it, did not reproach him in the slightest or do anything to prevent him from doing it again, giving me two more tremendous slaps. Later, while they were sitting on the couch and I was taking care of Mike's feet, he, taking advantage of the fact that my father had gone to the kitchen for a moment, kicked me hard in the face with the foot I was massaging, knocking me to the floor, and then stood up and started kicking me. Bill watched impassively. Fortunately, my father soon arrived and stopped him by saying:

-Stop, stop, Mike, please... you're going to ruin it...

"Ruin it?". My dad was already talking about me as if I were an object. I felt like dying. Then Mike smilingly proposed:

-I heard from Bill that you got hold of some interesting things: straps, whips... You know I like to play with these things from time to time with some submissive chick -I had no idea that my godfather was fond of BDSM, but it wasn't reassuring to know that-. We could have some fun with your slave...

-No, Mike -my father objected bluntly, fortunately-. He's had enough for today. Besides, it's about time he got dinner ready....

The next few weeks were more of the same. My dad, now fully settled into his role as master and clearly enjoying it, would not speak to me except to give me orders. There was never again the slightest sign of affection or pity for me on his part. His treatment of me was one of absolute coldness and indifference. I was dying of uncertainty, not knowing if this was a pose forced by the circumstances or if it had grown on him to treat me this way.

Mike and Bill kept coming over often, humiliating and hurting me as much as they could. Even my friend Jake joined the party! He loved to dominate and have a slave at his service, so he took the opportunity my father gave him to use me at his pleasure. Mike kept asking my father every time he came over to let him use the instruments of torture on me, but my dad would not let him, even though the excuses he made for not doing so were rather silly, which gave me hope that, deep in his heart, my father still loved me and did not want me to be hurt for no purpose. My mind was in a terrible turmoil...

And finally, after a long delay (you know how bureaucracy is), the day I had been looking forward arrived. My father announced to me on his way home from work that the inspector would arrive the next day, and I could finally see the light at the end of the tunnel! My heart pounded as I excitedly told my father:

-At last, Dad... Master. Soon everything can be as it was before.

But once again, to my great desolation, my dad did not give me the confirmation I had hoped for. He merely reminded me that he expected me to behave impeccably and that I would be severely punished for the slightest failure. Not a complicit word of encouragement. Nothing. I was once again plunged into uncertainty.

The inspector was a mature man, about 50 or 55 years old, dressed in a suit at all times, very correct and polite. He introduced himself as Mr. Williams and as soon as he arrived, he told my father bluntly that he was there to judge his behavior with me and that it would depend on his report whether I could continue living with him or not. Nevertheless, in the time he spent there, my father and he connected quite well and got along very well. Of course, the inspector did not miss the opportunity to "indoctrinate" my dad as much as he could. So, for example, one day while they were having lunch, he would say to him:

-Mason, I am very glad that you have understood the reason for all this. I continually have to give unfavorable reports because people still see the slave as a loved one and don't give him the treatment he deserves. I know this can be hard, and more so for a parent, but you have to understand that these behaviors must be eradicated from society. It may seem unfair or inhumane to homosexuals, but it is necessary. How could our country survive if everyone turned to homosexuals? It is better to accept the suffering of a few for the general good of society. I can't tell you how glad I am that you agree with this.

-Absolutely, Mr. Williams. I won't deny that it was hard for me to accept it, but I have come to understand that it must be so, and that this is the natural order of things.

And I didn't know if my father was doing a masterful performance, or if he really already agreed with that repugnant and fallacious homophobic discourse. The truth is that during those days my father was cruel to me as never before. I tried to fulfill all my duties impeccably, but at the slightest failure, my father punished me mercilessly, with strong shocks from the collar or giving me violent slaps. In addition, he kept calling me things like "scum" or "trash", as he had told me he would do at the beginning of it all. The inspector was delighted, and did not hesitate to make good use of me in every way he could think of, despite the deep disgust I felt, so different from doing it with my father. I was forced to suck him, to lick his feet, to swallow his urine... In the end his stay was very short, he only slept three nights at home (we knew that sometimes inspections could last more than a week), and he told my father that he did not need to see any more, that it was clear that he was an impeccable master and completely capable of performing his function, and that, of course, his report was favorable and I could continue in his service. I was delighted that this had gone well, but at the same time I was not sure whether we had deceived the inspector, or whether there had really been no disguise at all, because at that point everything he thought about my father was true. In the evening of the fourth day, my father accompanied Mr. Williams to the door and they said goodbye affably.

As soon as the inspector was out the door and my father returned to the living room, I went to him very excited:

-Dad, he's finally gone! It's all over! Now we can...

I was suddenly interrupted by a shock from the necklace. Stunned and in pain, I looked at my dad, who said to me sternly:

-What did you call me, slave?

God, this could not be happening! As much as I had feared it, the confirmation was brutal for me. I tried again:

-Master... I'm sorry. I was saying that now we can...

Another shock from the necklace and my father said to me:

-I don't think I gave you permission to speak. Besides, what are you standing around for? It's time for you to get dinner ready. Come on! Now!

I didn't dare say more. I went to make dinner, with a thousand thoughts troubling my mind. Everything went on with our usual routine. My father ate dinner and then watched TV for a while with me under his feet, as I had been for the past few weeks. When bedtime came and my father went to close the cage, I tried again:

-Master, we had agreed that when this was over...

My father cut me off with a gesture. At least this time he didn't use the collar. He said to me:

-It seems that today you are determined to speak without permission. In the end I'm going to have to gag you....

I looked at him with infinite horror in my eyes, but he merely added, bluntly:

-It's time to sleep!

He closed the cage and walked away. I was speechless. All my hopes were dashed. I began to cry inconsolably.

I had a terrible night. However, I was not willing to give up so soon. And so, as my father was eating breakfast while reading the newspaper, with me standing next to him, I said quietly:

-You gave me your word. You promised me a thousand times...

He looked at me angrily. I feared a new shock from the necklace or that he would hit me directly. However, I guess he still had a modicum of decency left in him and felt compelled to justify himself. He took a deep breath and said to me:

-I know what I promised you, but what do you want? What I don't think is fair at all is to spend all day working and then have to take care of the house chores, so that you can spend all day lazing around.

-I don't have to be lazing around -I replied anxiously-. I can... I can go back to studying online. Remember we talked about it?

-To study? For what? You're going to be a slave all your life, get it through your head - his words wounded me like sharp daggers-. To do housework and take care of your master you don't need any studies. Besides, I know you. The moment I let you use the computer again you will use it for everything but studying...

-All right -I agreed-. I'll still take care of everything in the house and... I'll take care of you as you wish -this last one I did feel like doing it-, but I can do it dressed, like a person.

-Not at all -my father replied-. Bill and Mike have a key to the house now. If they were to walk in unexpectedly and see you in your clothes, what would they think? Don't even think about it -my dad looked back at his newspaper.

I was getting a knot in my stomach. That was going so badly! But I wanted to at least exhaust all my options:

-At least let me go back to sleep in my bed and take off the chastity cage, please... -I begged.

My father looked at me and seemed to meditate for a moment. It was only for a few seconds. Then he said to me, in a firm and determined voice:

-I will not remove your chastity cage. I'm sure that if I do, you'll jerk off like a monkey and you'll neglect your chores as a slave. And as for the other thing... well, neither. It's good for me to have the room free in case one of my friends wants to sleep over and besides... well, sleeping in the cage will make you aware every day of your sub-human condition, which I don't want you to forget at any time -I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My dad cut me off, bluntly: -And that's enough talk, I've made my decision and there's nothing more to talk about! -He went back to the newspaper.

I was completely shocked to hear my father talk to me like that. And, no longer caring about the possible punishment, I said dejectedly:

-How can you do this to me? I thought you loved me...

It was a tremendous mistake. Making my father feel guilty made him very aggressive. He immediately yelled at me:

-Do this to you? I remind you that if we are like this, it's because you couldn't resist the urge for sex. If you had listened to me and kept your fly closed, none of this would have happened. But of course, it couldn't be. It was hard for me to accept it, but the truth is that everyone is right: you faggots are nothing but dirty perverts who only think about fucking!

You can imagine how his words hurt me. My father had just gone completely over to the enemy. He continued shouting at me, red with fury:

-And anyway, I don't have to justify myself to you at all. You are no longer a human being, you are just one more of my possessions. To all intents and purposes you are nothing more than an object, like one of my pieces of furniture. And furniture doesn't need to be explained!

My dad stood up and placed his strong hand on my chin, pressing my cheeks. And a few centimeters from my face he concluded, lowering his voice volume, but not his aggressive tone:

-I've been very tolerant with you, but that's over. From now on I will be relentless. If you ever speak again for anything other than asking permission or answering something I ask you, you're going to regret it. I'm going to really hurt you, and I assure you, not just with the necklace. And you'll see what I'm capable of if you treat me without due respect again.

Without being able to avoid it, his violence and his words made tears flow from my eyes.

Then my father let go of me, gave me a tremendous slap in the face and with a gesture of disgust, he told me:

-And I'd better never have to see your faggoty whining again! It makes me sick! You fucking pussy!...

And he hurried off to the living room. There I stood, completely heartbroken, with such grief that I couldn't even sob. My father! My beloved dad! I had just lost him forever.

To top it all off, the next day Bill and Mike came home and again asked my father to let them use the BDSM tools on me. And this time my dad just said, with the utmost indifference:

-Do whatever you want with him. Just give him back to me in one piece when it's time to prepare dinner.

He stayed in the living room while his coworkers pushed me into the garage. There they did everything to me: they tied me to a table and were dropping hot wax all over my body, they gave me water torment, putting a rag over my face and pouring water over it (the choking sensation this produces is one of the worst things you can experience) and, of course, they beat me as they pleased, not only with their own fists and legs, but with their police batons, paddle racket and whips. Fortunately, they were special BDSM whips and although their blows hurt quite a bit, they did not tear the skin and predictably would not leave marks. Even at one point my godfather Mike shoved his truncheon up my ass, laughing loudly as he said:

-This is what you like, faggot, isn't it, having a good baton up your ass...?

Fortunately, despite his obvious sadism, he didn't do it too fast or with too much violence and I was able to dilate my asshole to receive the rape of his truncheon. Otherwise he probably would have injure me seriously.

When it was time to prepare dinner, they released me and returned me to where my father was, said goodbye and left. I appeared before my father a panting wreck, full of bruises where I had been beaten. He didn't seem the least bit affected to see me in that state. His only reaction was to coldly tell me to apply some ointment to the reddened parts and then ordered me to prepare dinner for him.

The nightmare continued for the next few weeks. Truth be told, to be honest, my life didn't change much from how it had been in the weeks prior to the inspector's visit. Unlike Mike, my father was not a sadist and, as long as I faithfully performed my slave duties and didn't make him angry, he generally left me alone and didn't hurt me in any way. He never actively participated, on the other hand, in the tortures inflicted on me by his coworkers, although he sometimes witnessed them and even laughed with them. He did, however, set some red lines: he demanded that they not cause me irreversible injuries or leave permanent marks on me at any time, since - he said - at some point he might be interested in selling me and I might lose value if I was mutilated or scarred. The idea of my father selling me as if I were an old piece of furniture gave me terrible nightmares.